Michael POV:
The silence in the office was suffocating, broken only by the incessant, drilling vibration of my phone against the mahogany. Another creditor. Another angry supplier screaming for payment.
"Damn it!" With a roar of frustration, I swept a towering stack of papers off my desk.
They fluttered to the floor like dying birds—past due invoices, resignation letters, and threats of lawsuits forming a chaotic carpet at my feet.
It had been a week. Just one week since I had rejected Olivia.
It was supposed to be the start of my golden era. Serena and I, the ultimate power couple, ruling the pack with iron and silk.
But the money had dried up instantly. I hadn't realized... God, I hadn't realized how much of the pack's liquidity was tied directly to the Hayes family trust.
"Michael, darling," Serena purred, sauntering into the office.
She was wrapped in a silver fox fur coat that I knew—with a sinking dread—I couldn't afford. "Why is the staff so rude? The chef refused to make my distinct steak tartare."
"The chef quit this morning, Serena," I snapped, the pressure behind my eyes throbbing. "Because I couldn't pay him."
Serena rolled her eyes, dismissing my ruin with a wave of her manicured hand. "Well, fix it. You're the Alpha."
She walked over and perched on the edge of the desk, crossing her legs. The scent of her perfume was heavy, almost suffocating. Why did it smell so cloying today? Where was that intoxicating, magnetic pull I had felt at the Gala?
"I'm trying," I growled, my voice rough with exhaustion. "But Olivia... her family has blocked everything."
"Forget her," Serena said dismissively. "She's just a bitter ex."
"She was my financial backbone!" I roared, shooting to my feet.
My Alpha aura flared, intending to dominate the room, but it felt weak—sputtering like a candle in a gale.
The door opened. My Beta, Marcus, walked in.
He wasn't wearing his pack uniform. He was in jeans and a t-shirt, a battered duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
"Marcus?" I asked, confusion cutting through my anger. "Where are you going?"
"I'm leaving, Michael," Marcus declared, not even dipping his head in respect. "I can't follow an Alpha who breaks a bond for a Rogue."
"She is my Fated Mate!" I shouted, desperate to assert a truth that felt increasingly fragile.
Marcus looked at Serena with pure, unadulterated disgust.
"Is she? Because the pack doctor analyzed the air samples from the Gala. There were traces of *Amortentia* herbs. Love drugs, Michael."
I froze. The air left my lungs. I looked at Serena.
Her face paled instantly beneath her heavy makeup, the mask slipping.
"Lies!" she shrieked, her voice shrill.
"And that pup?" Marcus continued, relentless. "The one you claimed was yours? One of the Omegas recognized him. He was stolen from a low-ranking family in the Southern District."
Marcus paused, his eyes cold.
"He died yesterday. Neglect."
The world stopped spinning. The child... dead? Stolen?
"Serena?" My voice was a dangerous whisper, trembling with a horror I couldn't suppress.
She jumped off the desk, her eyes darting instinctively to the wall safe in the corner.
"Oh, grow up, Michael. You were an easy mark. A weak Alpha with a rich wife and a wandering eye."
The drug. The fake bond. The stolen child.
My Inner Wolf howled—a sound of pure, agonizing betrayal that tore through my soul.
I had thrown away Olivia. I had thrown away my unborn child. For this?
"Get out," I said, my voice shaking violently.
"Gladly," Serena sneered, backing toward the door. "I already emptied the emergency cash reserves. Have fun ruling the ruins."
She turned and ran.
I lunged, trying to chase her, to tear her throat out for what she had done, but my foot caught on the pile of unpaid bills.
I crashed to my knees in the center of my crumbling empire.
Desperate for a familiar touch, for anything real, I reached for the Mind-Link.
*Liv?*
Silence.
Not just silence—a void. An abyss where a soul should be.
The bond was gone.
I was alone.
And God help me, I deserved it.
